Bloodlust
by little-miss-twilighter
Summary: Bella takes part in a prison pen-pal program to make her monotonous life more interesting. Little does she know, the prisoner she is matched with will change her life in ways she didn't even think possible and show her a whole new side to mankind.
1. Prologue

**Bella's POV**

There is always the moment in a film, when everything suddenly turns into slow motion and you can only look on in horror as the unthinkable happens. I thought that only happened in the movies though.

I was wrong.

My feet were rooted to the ground, I tried to open my mouth to scream, to reach out my arms to stop him from lunging but I could do nothing. If my life were a movie, this would be the grand finale, the end of everything. As his fist powered through the air and made contact, I closed my eyes- not wanting to watch as everything that I had tried so hard to build fell apart.

_Thud_

It was all over.


	2. Chapter 1

**Bella's POV**

My life has become a routine, an organised schedule that is the same every day. After doing the laundry, polishing the already sparkling cherry wood floor, tidying the immaculately placed cushions and curtains and completing the other mundane tasks that make up my life, I often find myself standing in my house around midday with nothing to do but watch the grass grow or the paint dry. Television is a no. Daytime television consists of animalistic talk show hosts, revelling in the misery of other people's lives and although, on the surface, it seems like they are helping, you can tell from the way they bait the people like they are wild animals and that they only do it for the ratings- they have no personal interest. Radio is a no. My musical interest is intellectual and varied and I have never tuned into a station which plays something I would enjoy listening to. Some of the radio hosts have a somewhat irritating quality about them as well. You can always hear the phony happiness and enthusiasm oozing from their voices and that is one of my annoyances with humanity. Why do people fake emotions? Although it pains me to admit it, I have done it as well- never fully understanding _why _though. Sure it may save you from an awkward or embarrassing situation, stop people needlessly worrying over trivial things but surely, in the long run, it would be better to always be truthful. Honesty is the best policy, no? It isn't just emotions that we have convinced ourselves we need to fake though, anything we can possibly change about ourselves, we do. And it frustrates me to the point when I just want to find every heel wearing, make up coated, hair extension worshipping fake and take away everything that isn't natural and beg them to tell me why they feel the need to wear a mask, to cover up their true selves. My annoyance at humanity is one of the reasons why I wouldn't class myself as popular with a wide social circle. But, those contacts I _do _have, I truly enjoy spending time around and I am a firm believer in quality not quantity. I would rather have only one close friend with whom I had a deep bond than dozens of people I barely knew.

If there is one person I take pleasure in spending time with, then it would have to be my best friend since kindergarten, Rosalie Hale. Feisty, fiercely defensive of those she loves and breathtakingly naturally stunning, I would say that I am closer to Rose then I am to my husband. It sounds like she is the kind of person I should hate, but the one thing I love about her is her no-nonsense approach. What you see is what you get with Rosalie and fakery is not a word in her dictionary. It was thanks to her that my active interest in crime was rekindled.

With my father a police Chief, and my mother a lawyer, I grew up with a keener awareness and understanding of the criminal world than most children of my own age. Although my parents are reason the reason I am intrigued and fascinated by all things illegal, they are the sole cause of my dislike to humanity and the fakery we all love to indulge in. I spent years watching them argue, disagreeing on everything they could have different opinions over, sitting at extreme opposite ends of the table and sleeping in separate beds. When we had visitors though, they were two completely different people. Love and affection filled every room they were in, laughing, joking and smiling at each other while the guests looked on wistfully, wishing they could have such a fulfilling relationship like the one that was flaunted before them. It always annoyed me and when my mother ran off with one of her clients, my father went as far as to tell people she had _died_, rather than allow his fake reality to crumble around him. It has been almost a decade since I heard from my father and even longer for my mother but this truly does not bother me. As soon as I was financially able, I moved away, not wanting to live a life of lies any longer.

I went to college for a year and can truthfully say that those 365 days, were the best of my life. I studied criminology and immersed myself completely into it, allowed my childhood interest to completely take over me as I studied the thing I loved the most in the world. The cherry on top of the cake was that Rosalie was my roommate. Although our ideas of the perfect night differed somewhat (mine consisted of snuggling up on the sofa with a blanket and Ben and Jerry's while watching a documentary about a vicious murderer while Rosalie wanted to paint the town red every night), we managed to live without a single argument. Yes, my college life really _was _perfect. Then I met Jacob Black.

He was my first serious boyfriend and, having had no experience with real relationships, I ended up engaged to him within three months of meeting. Yes, it was quick but at the time it felt _right_. I should have noticed the signs though, he hated me spending time with anyone that wasn't him, didn't like it if I wore anything above the knee and God forbid I ever take off my engagement ring. As soon as we were engaged, I dropped out of college. He had told me first off that he didn't want a working wife and I went along with it like some kind of robot. So I spent the last four years in this mindless existence. Cooking, cleaning and all the while hating my life. Luckily, we rarely had visitors (what with my dislike of people and his angry 'go away' aura) so never had to fake closeness like my parents did- and for that I thanked him really. Rosalie became my only frequent guest, visiting regularly on a Wednesday afternoon.

She came in that day, baby in one hand and pile of papers in the other. Throwing the sheets down onto my table and handing her daughter to me, she threw her arms apart with excitement, her traffic stopping smile aimed at me

"I've done it!"

"What?"

"Found a way for you to get back into the crime world- not literally of course although I wouldn't object if you decided to whack that husband of yours with a heavy object-"

"Rose!"

Her distaste to Jacob was not subtle; she regularly told me that I needed to leave him and I countered back that I had nowhere to go. I was always welcome at hers apparently but she was newly married, with a three month old baby and trying to start her own business while her husband worked from home. The last thing they needed was me moving into their already hectic life.

"I know you and Jake don't exactly see eye to eye, but I'd rather there be no death references"

"Fine. But he does deserve it." Seeing that I was going to interrupt again, she raised her hands in front of her "Fine, fine. _Anyway_, you're going to get a prison pen-pal!"

"I am?"

"Yep. I saw the ad in the back of one of Em's magazines and thought of you straight away. I mean you're lonely right, and so are all these people rotting away in grotty jail cells so you can kind of, keep each other company"

I was automatically interested. Although it wasn't what I was expecting, my interest in criminology had not faded over the years and this _did _seem like a good way to get back into it without-

"What would Jake say though?"

Her immaculately plucked eyebrows narrowed and her blue eyes sparkled with anger

"Does it matter what _he _thinks? You let him control you too much Bella!"

"You know what he's like though Rose, he would hate this..."

"Then don't tell him"

"He's my husband"

"He's your _owner_, more like"

The venom in her voice as she said the word came through clearly and I sighed. In some ways, she was right; I did let him have too much control over me. Standing ready and waiting, hands on her hips and head tilted inquisitively, I knew I could not say no to her. I knew that the last time I had ever done anything for myself was years ago and I couldn't let this small chance of independence pass me by. So I found myself saying the 5 words that would change my life forever-

"Where do I sign up?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Bella's POV**

It took less than a week for the pack from the service to arrive. Along with the introductory leaflet, there was a thick booklet labelled '_Rules and Guidelines' _and a pre-addressed envelope for me to post my first letter in. The only thing I was told about the prisoner I had been matched with was their number- I wasn't even allowed to know their gender. It took me 3 days to pluck up the courage to sit down and _write _the letter. Before reading the guidelines novel, I had a rough idea of what I was going to say. Pure common sense told me I couldn't give away too much for my own safety- obviously I wasn't going to tell a potential murder where I lived, but I had hoped I would at least be able to tell them my _name_. The more I read into what the rules were saying, the more irked I became. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this, the person I would be writing to would definitely be an unsavoury character but they were still a human being. I didn't like the way the rules took away their humanity, their individuality.

It took me another 3 days to rethink my original plan and draft my letter. Writing it was quicker than I thought; it took less than 20 minutes to write it and re-read it before sending it off. I knew that no matter how many times I Iooked over it, I would still be paranoid I did something wrong or left something out.

_Dear Prisoner #200601,_

_I wish I was allowed to know your name, I hate referring to you as a number, I feel like I'm dehumanising you. The infinitely long list of guidelines I'm looking at as I write this also forbids me to tell you what my name is, as well as where I'm writing from. I didn't think there would be so many rules to this, so many strict regulations I have to stick to for my own safety. I hope it's worth it though, that both of us feel like something has been accomplished. _

_They told me not to tell you about myself but not to be too personal. I think this is a very fine line to walk but I will try my best. I am a housewife, married to a man who loves and cares for me. We have no children and my days have all become a constant blur. That's why I joined this program. I wanted to add something different, unusual into my daily haze and writing to somebody like you seems an interesting way to do this. My intentions are not purely selfish though, I know that monotony must have a completely different meaning to you and I hope that somehow we can make a small difference to each other's lives. _

_I don't know how long this letters are supposed to be, or whether I've said the right things but I want to emphasise the fact that although you are a criminal of some sort, I don't judge you for it and I don't think any less of you as a person. Whatever you did you were caught, trialled and punished and it isn't my place to have an opinion of you without knowing you. If it's okay though, I am wondering about a couple of things. How long have you been in jail for? What made you want to sign up for this program? What's your daily routine like? When are you due to be released? I hope the questions aren't too personal and you can feel free to ask me anything you want and I will answer you as honestly as I can while, of course keeping in the guidelines._

_Looking forward to your reply,_

_B_

As I walked away from the mailbox, my mind began to fill with even more questions that I should have asked, and whether or not I had written the right kind of information. My heart began to thump and paranoia slowly began to overcome me as I thought of all the things that could happen. What if I was writing to a violent murderer? What if they somehow tracked me down?

I slept restlessly that night, waking up at random intervals to check my room for criminals. Jake noticed after the 8th time but I passed it off as hormones and luckily, he believed me. I rang Rose the next day and she finally put my irrational fears at ease by reminding me that they would have no idea who I was, let alone where I lived because all the letters were usually sent to prisons in states the other side of the country.

I spent the next few weeks undertaking my usual routine although there was a nice change in the fact that, for the first time in years, I was hopeful. Although nervous, I was also somewhat excited to read whatever reply I was sent back, even if it was just plain insulting. My anxiousness was rewarded when, exactly after 30 days after I sent the letter, I received one in return. Hand written in delicate italic script, it was not the response I was expecting.

_B,_

_I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to write to somebody like me. Most people in society today would look down upon me, see me as scum and unworthy of a thought. But you appear to be without the shallowness and false superiority that so many people today are too full of, so thank you. I signed up for this program out of loneliness, my family write and visit often but I long to meet new people, my old line of work saw me mingle with a variety of people everyday and I do not have that privilege here.-amongst other things... _

_You were right with your letter, since entering this desolate place 12 months ago, my identity has been taken from me, anything I knew outside of these four walls is irrelevant- I don't have a name or background, now, I am just #200601. I have no hesitations in telling you why I am here, as you said, it is my own fault and I take full responsibility for my actions. It happened 18 months ago, *_**Text censored by supervisor for breaching of privacy rules***_...an animal at best and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I could. I don't believe in disrespect of any kind, especially not towards those who I love. _

_I hope my frankness and approval of violence does not stop you writing to me but I understand fully if it does. You would not be the first to not write a second letter._

_E_

The person I received a letter from was not the violent, unintelligent thug I had inaccurately expected and I felt shameful for stereotyping. In almost complete opposite, they seem to be intellectual and share some of the same fundamental beliefs that I do. My heart jumped with excitement as I read each line over and over again, memorising it almost by heart and my curiosity went into overdrive reading over the censored words. What rule could he or she have broken? With the enthusiasm of a five year old child on Christmas Day, I picked up my pen and a fresh sheet of paper.

_Dear E..._


	4. Chapter 3

**Bella's POV**

As more letters were sent between E and me, I felt like I began to know him better. Although I tried my hardest, I could not fully remove the feeling of wariness I held towards him and this made me feel guilty. It seemed as though he was truly revealing himself to me, telling me of his past, and the future hopes and plans he had which he believed were now extinguished because of his sentence. I felt sympathy for him as well; although he mentioned his family a lot and how they came to visit whenever they could, there was scarcely any mention of a friend. Surely not all of them would have deserted him, abandoned him to his fate? What could he have done that warranted such harsh rejection- what kind of man _was _he? I tried not to think about his past too much, for fear of it staining the positive image I have of him now.

_Dear B,_

_I know this letter will come as a shock to you and I understand if you are unwilling or unable to do so but I would very much like it if you came here the next visiting day so we can meet face to face- something I have wanted to do for a long time. _

_I am well aware this is not an easy request to make, but I truly feel I have gotten closer to you over these last few months and meeting in person means we can talk about things and ask each other questions without the potential for our words to be censored. Many of your letters to me have been heavily edited and I am certain the same is true of my letters to you; in fact, I would be really surprised if you got to read __this__ paragraph._

_I said it before but I'm going to say it again because I know it's important. I want you to know that I have wanted to do this since we first started sending letters. I have stopped myself each time though, countless numbers of scribbled out sheets littered my cell floor as I doubt you would have felt comfortable visiting with my family present. The next visiting day presents a unique opportunity though; my family are taking a much needed vacation- one they only agreed to after heavy encouragement from me. _

_I know this is a major step for us, but I am hoping you will take the leap with me. Judging from the dates on your letters and the dates I actually receive them, by the time you hold this in your hand, the visiting day will only be 2 weeks away, on the 18__th__, and so you will not have enough time to write back. I shall have to wait until the day itself to know whether I am going to be alone or not._

_Waiting with a hopeful heart,_

_E_

As soon as I received the letter, my heart leapt at the idea of meeting the mysterious E face to face and the thought of not going never crossed my mind. The only things I worried about were the practicalities. How would I know where he was? Would I be able to get there? Could I cover it up or was I going to have to tell Jacob? I knew that I would have to tell him one day, but I joined the program on impulse, not planning on it becoming the long term venture that it now was. Unsure of how to proceed, I called Rose, happy by her upbeat and fairly teasing tone.

"Hey Bella, what's up?"

"It's about the prison letter program"

"Oh yeah! I had been meaning to ask you about that, but work has just been so hectic you know?"

"No worries Rose, I understand"

"So how's it going? You like writing to the psycho?"

"Ha, ha. No, I love it Rose, I really, truly do. The man I have been matched with seems a genuinely good person and I enjoy writing to him."

"Well great then! So how come you're calling, what's happened?"

"He's asked me to come to the visitor's day in a fortnight. I want to go, but there are so many problems, I don't know if it will realistically be able to happen"

"Hmm yeah I get what you mean. You don't know what prison he's in or anything and God forbid you tell that animal of a husband that you're writing to a criminal."

I couldn't help by laugh, even though there was no sign of a joke behind her insult.

"Exactly! What do I do Rose?"

"Silly Bella, you just aren't thinking clearly. First, you ring the program and after you explain, I'm sure they will tell you where he is- isn't this the whole point of the thing in the first place, to give a prisoner a friend? Now to Jacob. I wouldn't tell him, you know more than anyone what he's like. Tell him you're going on a weekend getaway with me. It won't technically be a lie because I'll be coming with you anyway; he doesn't need a specific itinerary of what we're doing so he won't find out."

It was at times like these, I knew I was lucky to have Rose. She was so much more practical than me, far less likely to act on impulse. Her plan was so simple and yet so brilliantly perfect. Now I knew exactly what I was doing, I began looking forward to the visit even more.

"Rose you're a genius! I'll call you as and when I know where we're going, okay?"

"Sure bell, love ya. Good luck!"

As soon as I heard the dial tone, I called the service and explained my situation. At first reluctant to release details for 'my safety', they soon softened after much begging on my part- and a $500 donation to 'help with operating costs'. Once I had rattled off my rarely used credit card number, I was told pretty much instantly that Edward Cullen was currently in a small prison on the outskirts of Seattle. I thanked them in the nicest tone I could after the bribery and called Rose back to we could plan our upcoming visit to Washington.


End file.
